


A Study In Impossible Things

by YourLoyalBlogger



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Fantasy AU, LOTR, M/M, Magical Realism, Narnia, Wonderland AU, all fantasy worlds, modern sherlock/victorian watson, sci fi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2017-12-22 17:14:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/915898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YourLoyalBlogger/pseuds/YourLoyalBlogger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson lives alone, in a dull boring world. Filled with ordinary things and he doesn't feel alive anymore. Until one day he answers an ad asking for a flatmate and is propelled into a world fill with the impossible and the ridiculous. And meets a man that will change his life forever. Sherlock Holmes. Wonderland AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies if this isn't accurate to Victorian London. This story is supposed to be like Alice in Wonderland with the Wonderland inspired by Narnia, MiddleEarth, Underland etc. I do hope you enjoy this story as much as the others.
> 
> This is a re writing of my fic, now in third person. As only one person had said anything of it I figured it would be easier to delete and re post the new version.

_Time._

_It's not the boss of you. Your perception of the world, skews time, it makes enjoyable things pass far too quickly, and uncomfortable things last for a century. Time measures the world. Be it a day, a month or even a year. Or a decade. Without time you wouldn't know your age, or what year it was. Time is handy, but that doesn't mean you have to follow it's rules. Why shouldn't you be able to go forward or backwards in time. It should be easy, if it's merely your perception. But our world doesn't work that way. Time ticks on._

_Reality is the other thing that never changes. A tree is always tree, a poodle has fluffy, curly fur, not fangs and wings. That would be absurd. The sky is blue, the grass is green. Matter stays the same. That house opposite you will always remain a house. Four walls, two windows and a door. You expect it stay the same, why should it change? Our world, our reality is constant. It doesn't change, not in that way. It's rather boring if you think about it._

_At least...they don't change here.._

_But what if ours were not the only world. What if our world had a twin? In which time and matter were different to our own? Everything that we think is normal, was turned upside down? What would such a world look like?_

* * *

_In a perfect world, everyone finds their soulmate. In a perfect world, everyone has a best friend. Some people are extremely lucky, they find both in the same person. I am one of those people. It's funny because I never thought I'd find those people, let alone in the same person. And even with years gone by, marriage and loss, this one person has always been there. Whether it was by my side or in my heart._

_This is the story of how we met. You can choose to believe it is nothing more than a fantastical tale. Wonderful but a work of fiction. Feel free to do so. It's your loss. But it is true. Every word._

_This is the story of how I met Sherlock Holmes and how both our lives were changed forever._

* * *

The year was 1887 and it was the beginning of winter. Most of the leaves on the trees that bordered the cobbled streets on London were dead. For some people winter was a magical time. It meant Christmas and family. But there were those that didn't have either. For some people, winter was just another season, a depressing season. They held no magical illusions of it. John Watson was one such person.

It had only been five months since he had returned, invalided, from Afghanistan. An army doctor with no more people to save or stitch together. He felt his purpose in life for so many years was gone, vanished. He'd moved from his old lodgings, to a dismal little flat in London that had little more than a bed, a table and chairs, a bathroom and the tiniest of kitchens. Even with the addition of a desk, bookcase and little wardrobe, it felt even smaller. And it didn't feel like home. John had no family or friends in London anymore. What friends he still had were now in another land, fighting a war that didn't want to end.

He'd struggled to find work after returning to London. John considered himself quite a good doctor but had to make do on the small amount he still received from Her Majesty. He never really seemed to put it to good use. He spent more than he should on gambling. Each day started the same and ended likewise. He got up, he ate his breakfast, he read. At lunch he would take a short walk through gardens and streets. Limping of course, using a cane to aid his way. John's leg hadn't been the same since his return. Sometimes the doctor would try to walk somewhere new. Find a new path and discover where it took him. Always hoping it would take him somewhere exciting and different. Somewhere far away. But it never did.

* * *

He decided one day,  _perhaps I ought to find myself a flatmate_. Someone to share a house, certainly not this one, or place with, until he could afford one on his own. An old friend mentioned it to him the week before so John had kept his eyes out in the papers, hoping someone would have written about wanting the same. Someone in a similar situation. Because who knew what it would bring? New job opportunities, friendship, anything. A better living standard most definitely.

His life was dull, it lacked colour. Like the world was muted in greys and blacks and dismal browns. John wanted colour. He missed it. John wanted life, vibrance. He wanted to feel alive again. Was that so much to ask of the world?

* * *

And then one day something amazing happened.

_As things often do in these sorts of stories._

He came across an ad in the paper. A flatmate was required for 221b Baker Street. But...there was no 221b in Baker Street. The houses didn't go up to that number. But, he thought to himself, perhaps it had been miswritten. The ad asked for anyone interested to meet them in the Botanical Gardens, at three-thirty in the afternoon, in two days time. Such instructions seemed to border on the absurd. But that made him even more eager to answer the request.

And he was ever so glad he did.

  
  


 


	2. Down The Rabbit Hole

Before leaving, John weighed his options against each other. Going meant a high chance of a new place to live, maybe even a new friend in his life. Perhaps not. It would ease his living expenses and quality of living. However he knew nothing of this other person. They could be wonderful. But they could just as easily be terrible, untrustworthy, even criminal.

But he felt he had little choice. By not going he may miss out on a good opportunity. There was little optimism left in Doctor Watson. Just enough, though, to pick up his coat and satchel and walk out the door.  _Don't let me down,_  he thought to himself as he limped through the city streets.

_Don't let me down._

* * *

There was a great deal of people in the gardens, which was to be expected, it was after all a very nice day. What the exact number was John was unable to determine. Not that it was important per say, but it had made him feel somewhat foolish for answering the ad. He had described himself to as accurate as possible, without sounding pathetic and hoped that this prospective flatmate would arrive at the appointed time, and place, and that both their lives would be made easier. But he never came.

John waited for what seemed hours, it was unlikely that the other man had been caught up in the busy streets of London, though it was possible he was simply lost in gardens looking for John. The doctor decided to wander through the gardens, before sitting and resting against a large tree. Pulling the days paper from his satchel he began to read.

* * *

Something fluttered before him as he read, a slip of paper circled his head before resting on dirt covered knees. It had been torn from a newspaper and it contained the very ad John had answered not two days before. He looked up, hoping to see someone standing before him, but all he saw...was a rabbit. Not a wild rabbit, a small dirty creature with brown fur, but a pure white animal, taller than natural for it's kind and it was wearing a waistcoat.  _Perhaps I have fallen asleep_ , Watson thought, rubbing his eyes twice. The creature's nose wrinkled three times before removing a pocket watch from it's waistcoat. It seemed to frown as if the time on the clock's face was unsatisfactory and John could almost swear it was mumbling to itself.

"I'm late, I'm so very very late."

It looked at his wide eyed face and grumbled. "Is it you? It must be you, well come along then, it will not do to keep him waiting. He hates lateness, both of them do though both are often late themselves. And if you don't hurry we all may be late. Late in time and late in life! Follow me and watch your step."

The rabbit bounded into the tree beside him, it had a large hollow opening that had spawned in the middle of the great oak to it's roots. It hadn't been there before. The rabbit had spoken.  _It had spoken to me!_ John decided he was most definitely dreaming. Rabbits did not speak nor did they happen to wear waistcoats and worry about the time. Still, he found himself drawn to the tree and put down his newspaper and held the ad firmly in his hands.

 _Should I follow? If it was after all I dream, surely then there was no harm in doing so. Of course there isn't_ , he said to himself before stumbling towards the opening. It was pitch black as he entered, though he had expected more in a dream. Though what he did not expect was for the floor to give away beneath him and he fell into nothingness.

* * *

John screamed until his throat felt hoarse. He was still falling, he'd been falling for hours. Or perhaps it only seemed that way. The hole seemed to have no end in sight. It was a bottomless pit. A bottomless pit filled with clocks. Big ones, little ones, pocket watches, grandfather clocks, cuckoo clocks, mantelpiece clocks, every sort of clock a person could imagine. Every colour and every shape. There were many of a make the doctor had never seen before, clocks with no clock face, merely the numbers.

"How curious."

John said out loud to nobody in particular. It was curious indeed for there to be so many clocks in a rabbit hole that had no end and now no beginning. And where had the rabbit itself got to? It was neither above or below him and John wondered if this dream had simply wiped it from existence. Dreams did sometimes flit from one to the other without a moments thought.

All at once every clock began to chime, they'd all reached the hour despite each face showing a different time. The noise was deafening and covering his ears with his hands seemed to do very little.  _I wish they'd stop, I shall be deaf before their chiming is done!_ And then all at once, as quickly as they had begun, they stopped. And so did John Watson. He slammed face first into the floor. John turned around at once, making sure his body had not sustained any injuries. Then he looked up, expecting to see the opening of the rabbit hole above him, but saw only a table, upside down on the ceiling.

Why should a table be on the ceiling? Had it been nailed down? But what of the small bottle and plate of little cakes on top of it? There was only one explanation but it was completely impossible. He was on the ceiling and they were on the floor....


	3. And Through The Door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry these are so short!.

"Alright, don't panic. There is no reason to panic. Or look down...who am I even talking too?"

_Alright Watson, pull yourself together, as long as you keep still you'll be fine._

There was a loud clatter on the floor beneath, or was it above, as his walking stick fell to the tiles below... or above. This oddly placed gravity was slowly loosing its hold. Which did not bode well.  _How does one keep gravity in place,_  John wondered as he tried to hold onto something, anything. But there was nothing to hold onto. He closed my eyes, said a silent prayer and let go of the ceiling.

He felt myself falling and wanted to shout but then he stopped, in mid air. He opened my eyes to see he was now in the middle of the room, floating or hovering just above the ground. It was a wondrous feeling. Falling felt like flying when gravity decided to stop you from coming to a permanent end. John figured, however, that it would not last and was correct as he quickly dropped to the ground with a thump. He slowly pulled himself up and brushed himself down and making sure everything was still in working order. His cane waited patiently for him on the cold floor. As he moved to pick it up John noticed that a cake had fallen of the little table that stood in the middle of the room. It was a pretty little thing, blue with white icing and a little heart drawn on the top. A small tag hung from the side of the little cake, it read  _Eat Me_.

"Why does a cake have to announce it needs to be eaten?"

It was indeed quite odd but then so far things hadn't been exactly normal. He placed the cake back with it's brothers, or sisters, and surveyed the room noting that there were three doors. One was very large, two were a regular size and one was about half the size of a normal one. He tried the first three but they were all locked, which only left the small one. He shouldn't have been surprised that it too was locked. Perhaps they all required a key?

And of course there was one the table, surrounded by little bottles of blue liquid. The key itself was small and of the brightest silver John had ever seen. It looked brand new. But it was far too small for the first three doors. Which again, left only the small one. He placed it in the keyhole and turned it once, the door opened straight away. He wondered what to expect on the other side, but nothing, no dream world, nothing he could have ever imagined, would have come close to what he saw before him.

It was beautiful.

* * *

And quite unattainable. The width of the door was too thin, the height, too short. There was no way Watson could get through.  _Wonderful, I suppose I will have to stay here until I wake up._ Which he hoped would be quite soon. Soon, very soon.  _Perhaps if I pinch myself. Ow! No, still here._  There must be some way, some thing, He could do that would wake his body up.

As he pondered this though, the newspaper, which had followed him through the rabbit hole, began to flap it's pages, as if it could achieve flight. And it did, by slowly hovering its way towards him, as if carried by invisible angels or spectres. It deposited itself in John's lap and he hesitantly turned it over. Large red words began to appear on the front page. Most impossible.

**DRINK ME!**

_Drink me? Now I know this is definitely a dream. Newspapers do not ask you to drink them in real life._

**NOT THE NEWSPAPER, YOU IDIOT!**

"Hey! Paper or no, that was very rude."

**OH DON'T BE LIKE THAT. PRACTICALLY EVERYONE IS. DRINK THE BOTTLE!**

John shook his head. He was having a conversation, and argument, with a newspaper. Might as well accept this dream until it saw fit for him to wake. He folded the newspaper, hoping that would stop the words from appearing, and walked towards the little table. Drink the liquid from the bottle? All of it? Or just a sip? There was nothing on the label to suggest what one should do. Perhaps a sip first. But John doubted it would help him through the door. How could it? As he picked up the bottle John noticed it's contents shimmered like the silver of the key. That must be a sign. It was such an odd colour though, it couldn't be healthy. But this was a dream, so it must be safe.

He took a quick sip of the bottle and put it down. He wasn't sure what he expected to happen. Something at the very least.  _Wait.. is the room getting larger. Or am I getting smaller?!_ It was the latter, his clothes were thankfully changing in size as he did. Just as well, one did not want to be running around naked in ones' own dreams unless the situation was...different. He was half his usual size now, the key and door now looking the perfect size. The others were all gigantic. John turned the key once more and opened the door.

"It's now or never." Time to brave this dream world, John Watson.

* * *

"Finally, I though he would never get out of that room."


	4. Donovan and Anderson

It was truly the most beautiful place he had ever seen. There were toadstools taller than houses, trees smaller than the palm of his hand. Glittering white bushes that had globes for flowers. Red moss covered the rocks and tree trunks. He could have almost sworn that the giant roses were whispering to each other. There were crystal flowers bordering the pathway. They did not only look like crystal, they were actually made of it. It made a sweet tinkling sound when one tapped a petal.

And this place had the most unusual insect life. He had already seen a firefly a horsefly and a butterfly. But the firefly was on fire, the horse fly was a miniature horse with wings and the butterfly did look like a butterfly, but it was covered in a yellow substance that dripped on the flowers.

"Curiouser and curiouser."

He could not help but smile, this was place was amazing. It was the most incredibly forest he had ever laid his eyes on. And beyond it were trees that seemed to touch the sky. There was also a very large arched gate. It almost seemed forbidding. Perhaps he would spend a little while longer in this place before he even considered going through that gate. John felt as if something was sure to happen if he did. Besides why would he want to leave this wonderful garden? He sat himself down beside the crystal flowers and removed one of the globes from the white bush behind it. He didn't know why he shook it but as he did it filled with a red mist and shattered. Horrified John drop the remains, but they turned into red petals and floated to the ground.

"They're called  _globus frutex_. When their flowers drop, they turn to petals and releases its spors for pollination."

"What she means is, when they releases its spors for pollination when they drop their flowers."

"That is exactly what I said."

"Actually not exactly. I would like to explain things to the Watson too you know."

"We don't even know if he is the Watson."

"That doesn't mean he isn't."

"He isn't if he isn't."

Mystified and slightly amused, John let them argue a little more so he could try and figure out just who they were. They were unlike each other in every way possible. One was male, one female, one had straight hair, the other's was curly. They even had different skin tones. They were however dressed alike and that was the only thing they had in common. The both wore dark trousers in an odd shade of blue, long matching coats and white and blue striped shirts. One had a tie in red, the other in purple. Both wore belts with holsters attached. And there was some sort of badge on leather cords strung around their necks.

_Wait a moment, the Watson? As in, me?_

"I'm sorry, but who are you too?" They both turn to John immediately as if noticing him for the first time.

"Donavan and Anderson at your service." Said the female.

Simultaneously the man replied. "Anderson and Donavan at your service." They both glared at each other and then at John.

"Are you the Watson?" Donavan inquires.

"The Watson? I'm a Watson."

"Oh wonderful, it's the wrong Watson.  _Him_ self is going to be ever so pleased." Sneered Anderson.

"Forgive my partner. We are looking for the Watson. We were told he would be at this very spot, at this very hour and at this very second."

"That's very exact of you." John replied. This was getting ridiculous.

"Well are you the Watson or aren't you?" The doctor was beginning to dislike this Anderson fellow.

"I don't know! I'm a Watson. John. H. Watson to be precise."

Donavan shrugged and took him by one arm, Anderson taking him by the other and together they frogmarched him through the gate.

* * *

He protested and fought them the entire way through the forest. Only stopping to look at the scenery. The trees were so thick it was impossible to see what lay inside the forest's edges. Occasionally giggling was heard or he saw eyes following him. Then John would return to fighting them. But he was half their size. He could only hope they arrive at whatever hole they crawled out of soon, and let him go. And as soon as the thought entered his brain they stopped.

"Do you think we're doing the right thing? I mean he's from the other place, he might get himself in trouble!" Donavan snapped at her partner, telling him to be silent.

"Trouble, what trouble?!" John hoped his voice really didn't sound that high.

"Nothing. No trouble at all. It's just if you are the right Watson, then you will be a great help to us."

"What if I'm the wrong Watson?"

"Then we will return you home. But only Himself will know if you are the right Watson or not. Or His brother. I'd rather deal with Himself than His brother to be honest."

John hoped that this Himself fellow could return him home if I am the "wrong" Watson. How should he know if he was the one they were after or not? This dream was getting out of hand!  _I would like to wake up now!_ John pinched myself again. Nothing.

"What are you doing?" Anderson looked down at John in complete confusion.

"Pinching myself, I want to wake up."

"But you are awake."

"This is a dream, so clearly I am not."

"You think this is a dream? You poor fellow. Poor poor wrong Watson."

"We're here."

Donavan lets go of his arm and her partner followed suit. They had stopped in front of another gate but this one was more homespun and with white flags fluttering in the invisible wind. There were two guards in white armour on either side of the gate, their helmets resembled knights on a chess table. He could leave right now, it wasn't real, there was nothing to stop him.

"Wait here. Don't try and run, the trees might get you." The two of them walked through the gate.

_The trees? The trees?! This is ridiculous._

_That's it, I'm leaving._


	5. Doctor Watson, I presume?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is very very short!

"If you're thinking of leaving, I highly advise you not too."

The voice seemed to appear out of the air itself. John spun himself around in a circle but the owner of the voice was nowhere to be seen. What sort of trick was this? Perhaps the owner of the voice was a coward, too afraid to be seen by others.

"Where are you? Come on then, show yourself!"

What happened next was hard to believe, but with everything that had happened to him so far and this being just a dream, a man's face wavering into view was not unexpected. His eyes appeared first, followed by his arrogant grin. Then his entire face followed, then his torso, then his limbs. He was the only person so far in normal attire, though it was a dark, almost royal purple. A three piece suit of the highest quality fabric. The waistcoat a lighter shade than his suit. He twirled an equally purple umbrella in the air before resting on it as one would a cane. John's face must have caused him some degree of amusement because he chuckled.

"Hello, Doctor Watson I presume."

"You presume much I am sure. I am Watson, yes. But there is some discussion as to if I am The Watson. It seems people are after a specific one." John wondered if he could escape from a man who could appear as if from smoke.

"You seem to be the right one. You have the paper, you have the bearing. You seem undisturbed by the alien world around you. Yes. You are The Watson."

"Of course I am undisturbed, this is all a dream. Isn't it? And who are you, might I ask?"

The man chuckled once more, slowly walking towards him, though his feet seemed to be made of purple smoke, as if, he wasn't really walking towards John at all, but rather he was gliding, hovering in his direction. Walk with me, he said, and John refused. He wanted an answer, he wasn't fond of people who held something over them, who had the upper hand only because of their arrogance and a feelings of superiority. This man smelled of both.

"I am Mycroft, I am but a humble servant of her majesty, the White Queen, protector of the Realm, Guardian of the Seven Orbs of Light. I am the elder brother of the man you came to seek. The one who penned that ad you hold so tightly in your hand."

He sprouted more such utter nonsense that John found himself simply nodded and pretending to listen. The possibility of enacting an escape plan was proving less likely than he had hoped. He would humour the dream-man, but John believed he would see straight through him as if he were glass, dream or no. John feared he would have little choice but to follow and listen to him.

"Your brother then, where is he?" The purple man, Mycroft, pointed to the gate behind the guards.

"And why am I here?"

"Why? You'll find out soon, don't worry. I just hope you are the man for the job. Because if you betray my brother, there is no force in both our worlds that will stop me from finding you and exacting my revenge. So do play nice."

The man did not give John a chance to process his words before steering him towards the gate and pushing him behind them.

"Wait! Where am I going?" John could only see the darkness in front of him.

"Follow the path, Doctor Watson." Mycroft's back was turned, the umbrella at his shoulder like a sword in salute. "The paper will light your path."

 _For the love of-, alright John. Let's get this over with so you can wake up._ Watson held the paper in front of him and began to walk, it seemed to glow, illuminating his surroundings enough for him to see a small stone path, leading towards a white glow further ahead. But it hadn't been there before...why was it there now? Where had it come from?  _Stop asking questions and just keep walking,_  he told myself. It was stupid to try and rationalise a fake world.

* * *

John soon found himself in front of a white door. He sensed it was attached to a building, but not one of stone, one of twisting, thorn covered vines. But they were as tightly knit together and as hard as rock. The door was locked, but it had a large diamond knocker shaped like a lion. He knocked twice and then waited. Perhaps no one would answer. But John was wrong, again.

The door opened...

"Doctor Watson, I presume."


	6. An Ordinary Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the moment we haven't heard from anyone else yet, only seen into John's mind. But now that everyone, almost, is here, we will. Though remember, this is largely told in John's POV.

His hair was dark curls, his eyes a pale colour that seemed to change with his emotions and he looked about twelve. Though is more likely to be in his thirties, he has one of those youthful faces. He wears clothes like they're armour. All in a shade of blue,red, black and white. Around his neck was a white chain, it's pendent hidden beneath red fabric. A black deerstalker rested on his head with a pair glittering goggles with red lenses. He seemed to be examining John, just as the doctor was examining him. Though different, a doctor and a solider's eyes studied this man. Not a scientist's. They were sizing each other up.

He had to be the one, the brother of Mycroft. None of the others had approached John since he'd opened that door. There was a man clad in silvery-grey clothes, he had the bearing of a man either in the military, or of a policeman. Someone associated with law and order. The glittering white badge on his belt helped to prove John right. Donovan and Anderson stood beside him. A mousy haired young woman, in a flowing white coat, with a hairstyle to match smiled at Doctor Watson from behind the man in grey. Her dress was patterned with cherries. Everyone else seemed to fade into the background.

"Yes, what of it?"

The dark haired man took a step back, his fingers meeting in a steeple in front of his lips. His eyes taking in every inch of John and he felt, not of just his appearance either. Then he nodded to himself and put out a long fingered hand.

"You  _are_ Doctor Watson. I am Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes if you must know my entire name. Though it is not relevant." John thought it was indeed relevant information.  _You knew my name before we met._

"John. John Watson." But it was important to make a good impression, even on a dream. "Uh, silly question. Why am I here?"

"Why bother asking? You believe this to all be a dream, do you not?" Holmes chuckled and John spotted Mycroft appearing beside the silver man. He didn't like people knowing more about him than he did them.

"Isn't it? It's hardly real. I mean, everything is completely impossible or ridiculous. Why should I believe it's real?"

"Wake up then. Go on. I won't stop you."  _You think a lot of yourself if you believe you can._

John pinched himself and closed his eyes. It hurt, which it is not supposed to do in a dream and when he opened my eyes he was still there. That can't be right. This was a dream.  _This.. none of this is real. I'm not in fairyland, I'm at home asleep, or in the park still asleep against a tree. No. No no, wake up John, wake up._ He rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to block out everything. Strong hands tried to pull them away.

"No. No, stop, please. No, this isn't real." He muttered.

He became to feel odd, lightheaded.  _I'm in shock_. The strange world slips away and everything fades to black. Waking up at last..

* * *

Angry voices argued above him as he floated in a black soup of nothing and everything.

"Someone get him a blanket!"

"This is your fault, I hope you realise. You should have warned him!"

"Oh, like sorry, would you like to fall through a hole in space-time to parallel universe where everything makes zero sense to you. And take part in a dangerous mission during which you may die? Brilliant, Lestrade."

"You could have told him something!"

"He wouldn't have answered the ad if I had."

"You don't know that, Sherlock. He was chosen for a reason, he could have coped."

"Shut up Mycroft."

"Tea dear?"

 _Tea... I want tea...did I say that out loud?_ A cup of steaming hot, delicious tea was forced into John's hands and his body pushed into a seated position. The tea smelled of roses and peppermint, but tasted like honey. One sip made him feel warm inside.

"You alright mate? Gave us a bit of a scare." The Silver Man had a friendly, inviting smile. He seemed the most normal out of everyone John had met so far.

"So..Sorry, I don't know what happened."

"You were in shock. Understandable, it's alright. Happens to the best of us. I'm Greg by the way. Greg Lestrade." He gave John's hand a quick shake before stepping back.

How embarrassing, everyone had surrounded him and the small red couch he'd been passed out on.

"I.. this is embarrassing."

"Yes."  _Thank you Mr Holmes._

"Did someone say something about a dangerous mission?" That might kill him? Will someone explain to him what he was doing here?! He was still in the dream world. This didn't make sense. Drat this! What was going on? Sherlock's lips twitched and he walked over the the table, gesturing for John to follow.

"This is the Red Empire."

A large three dimensional map was spread out on the wood. "Our land as it is now. After the Red King and Queen took over and destroyed everything. This used to be the Kingdom of Hearts, not it's true name mind you."

"Why am I here?"

"The fake King and Queen have destroyed the world as we know it and will only continue unless they are stopped, which is where we come in."

"Why. Am. I. Here?"  _Look at me!_

"Because you are needed... Because only an ordinary but extraordinary man can change the tides."  _Wow, right. That makes no sense. And now I know you have the wrong Watson. I don't know, what the fuck is going on, but I need a straight answer. Now._

"What?" Sherlock sighed and glanced at his elder brother.

_"_ _A prophecy was made, that was is a quote from it._

_When Red battles White and the World is at War_

_Eight Will Rise Up and Answer the call_

_The Copper, The Duchess, The Mouse and The Twins_

_The Detective, The Doctor and The Government Grins_

_From alien lands one will unite them all_

_Because only an ordinary but extraordinary man can change the course the tides."_

"It doesn't rhyme."

"It's not supposed to rhyme! Don't judge it on your written rules. The point is, we are seven, you complete our group. You're the ordinary man. From your point of view anyway."

"Thanks." This was ridiculous. How could he get home? Was it possible to get a hansom from here?  _Ordinary. Thanks, really. That about sums me up._

"Oh don't be like  _that_."

"John, our world will end, our people will die unless you help us. Now, I know it's a lot to ask because you don't know us, you don't know our cause. This is all new to you. But you're a good man, and you're a solider. And good soldiers helped protect the innocent. Will you help us?"

 _I don't know. I don't understand anything. I wake up in a dream that's not a dream, prophecies are made about me, I'm supposed to 'Unite Them All' what by being here? I don't understand!_ John ran his fingers through his short hair. What to do?

"Not until someone gives me a straight answer. The whole story. Then we talk."

"Fair enough. I will tell you-."

"No, no offence Sherlock Holmes." Offence meant. "But I'd rather someone who actually listens. Mr Lestrade, will you?"

"I'd be delighted mate! Come, sit over here with me."

* * *

_"It all started.."_

_"Oh for God's sake.."_

_"Shut up Sherlock!"_


	7. Explanations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I've been occupied with my other fics. This chapter isn't perfect but hopefully from here on it will be better.
> 
> Please enjoy.

 

"It began a very long time ago. Hundreds of years ago. There was a war. A war to end all wars. It was the third such war of it's kind. A decision was made by those in charge, to divide the world into four parts. Each part would be responsible for looking after each other, regardless if they were rich or poor. In addition, no conflicts could continue to exist between nations and each country would elect an official that would become a member of their Part's government. The alternative to all this was too terrible to even think about. But it worked. Some time later, a bright spark, believed to have been an author, referred to each part as a suit in a deck of cards. Spades, Diamonds, Clubs and Hearts."

"Which one is this place?"

"Hearts. People took to this idea with great enthusiasm. Red is our predominate colour. The Spades Nations chose white, The United Diamonds chose blue and the Clubs chose black. The symbols are important too, now. If you look around while you are here, hearts are everywhere. In fact, we quite literally wear our hearts." What did he mean by that? A literal beating heart would be impossible, though impossible was steadily becoming the reality of this world.

Mycroft answered John's thoughts as if he'd heard them himself, John wouldn't put it past him to have done just that. "You see John, when a child is born here, they are given a Heart by the local government, usually the Mayor or an underling. The parents of the infant would choose the look before the baby is born. Most of them are smooth and blank, so that the owner can add to it as they age. Rank and economic situation does not matter with a heart. Any material is possible, as is any size but most choose a small to medium sized heart." Lestrade removed a small silver pendant from beneath his shirt, while Mycroft was still speaking. The pendant was in the shape of a heart, foxes were engraved into the metal, a simple L was engraved in the centre.

"Foxes were on our family crest." He smiled sadly, opening the pendant to reveal a colour photograph of a beautiful, red haired woman. "My wife. Long gone now."

"She was beautiful. You..all have these hearts?"  _What an interesting tradition. Were they all pendants too?_

"Thank you. And yes, unless one loses it, gives it away or breaks it, it is with you for life. In some areas of the Hearts Kingdom it is customary to give your heart to the one you love, for safe keeping."

"Stupid."

"When I want your opinion, Sherlock, I'll ask for it. I notice you haven't shown John your heart, no has anyone else. I'm the only one who has bothered to."  _Perhaps it is a very personal thing, to show someone your heart._

This was true. The others were too engrossed with the story, whilst Sherlock had been resting against a tree and sulking. Grumbling, the man removed a small heart-like stone on black ribbon. The stone resembled a diamond or a crystal. When it caught the light it appeared to be in shades of red, but still a clear stone. A small SH was almost burned into the centre. It was beautiful but looked as if it would be cold to the touch. Like ice. Mycroft's was the same but with a deep green ribbon. The quiet young woman had a carved wooden pendant with a white lace ribbon as her heart.

"They are all wonderful, but tell me, is that all there is to this tale?" John ignored the scoff behind him and the following reprimand.

"No. You see, up until fifteen years ago we were prosperous. And then the old King died. We have an elected monarchy you see. The next two, one Queen and one King also died, in very suspicious circumstances. I was in the Palace City Watch. A Detective Inspector of sorts you might say. And when the next King was elected, our suspicions grew. As this man had previously run for the position and had been an attendant to a man who had also run against the Queen. His name is Richard Brook. And he now rules this Kingdom. He appears to be a peaceful, kind man, but we suspect that he is another man entirely."

"Who?"

Mycroft answered before Lestrade had even opened his mouth. "A ruler of a Spades crime syndicate. This would mean that our ruler is an impostor. We believe he orchestrates crimes in the Hearts Kingdom, behind the scenes. But we can't prove anything. However, since he came into power, our civil liberties have been infringed, laws have been changed that have grave consequences. And small battles have begun to wage across the islands." He began to pace.

"Ten years ago bombs began to go off in towns and villages that had shown support for opposing Brooks right to rule. Even though no one can prove he ordered those places to be destroyed. But whole towns have been ravaged to the ground by an army that doesn't exist. My home was destroyed, my brother and I only just made it out in time. We are the only survivors from our town."

"That's horrible. No one deserves that. War is terrible, no matter the excuse one uses."

"Thank you John."

"Of course since we can't prove King Richard has anything to do with this, and the cities still go on as if nothing as changed, the rebels and us have all gone underground. But the army I saw, their leader was a man I know to be close to the King. The Ace, the Head Knight of our Kingdom."  _Like a general, perhaps?_

"This is all very confusing. I hope you do not expect me to remember all this."  _It is a lot to take in._

"Good, it's going to get even more confusing later on."  _Oh, wonderful, thank you Mr Sherlock Holmes._

"But this is for another time. It's getting late, guys. Don't you think we ought to grow Mr Watson to his proper height and check him into the Outside Hotel?" The what hotel? And how did he forget he was the size of a small child?

"That is true, Lestrade. Very well. Dr Watson, I would like you to take a bite from this." It was one of the small cakes John seen back in that ridiculous room. That seemed like so long ago now. Would it change him back to his correct height? No harm in trying was there? He took a little nibble, it was surprisingly delicious. He felt something surge through him and suddenly he was getting taller and taller until, he stopped. Still shorter than everyone else, but he was certain this was his correct height.

"Marvellous. Now, come with us, we shall get you kitted out and checked in!"

Lestrade cheerfully began to lead the way with Mycroft and the others in tow. John looked behind him to see if Sherlock Holmes was coming as well. He was still sulking, but when he caught John looking at him, he huffed, sighed and followed the group. What was his problem? He was acting like an overgrown child. Perhaps it was just a mask, though. If what Mycroft had said was true, this young man had seen terrible things. Something John could sympathise with. He was the only person in the group, besides the young woman he had yet to be introduced to, that he couldn't figure out. Mycroft was the typical government official, an pompous noble. Greg Lestrade was like a kind police constable, only with more power. He was someone that Doctor Watson could see becoming friends with.

But this person, this Sherlock Holmes, he couldn't put him in a box like the others.

Was he going to regret trying to find out who he was?


	8. The Outside Hotel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: I've been putting this off. I wanted this fic to be a proper epic. A deliberate long fantasy/scifi/adventure story. But although I have plenty of ideas, its just difficult to write those inital first chapters and my skill in writing is not great. It's not flowery or full of long words or beautiful metaphors, fancy dialogue. It's just average. And that bothers me XD.
> 
> So please, if you are interested in this fic, bear with me. A beta or help is welcome too. (it keeps wanting me to change woulds like threw to through or rain to reign, it's really weird.

Being 'kitted out' meant replacing his respectable clothes with an assortment collected from large wicker baskets. Lestrade had inferred that he would stand out otherwise. At least John had been allowed to choose them, rather than have them chosen for him. And judging by how the others chose to dress, would not have been a good thing. The clothes he had picked looked comfortable and would still look respectable, not at all outlandish. Though that seemed to be the fashion here. After his selections were made they proceeded to a place known only as 'The Outside Hotel'.

"Why is it called The Outside Hotel? Are not all hotels...outside?" Isn't everything?

Sherlock huffed. "Don't be obtuse. it used to be called the Inside Hotel. It was inside a large shopping complex. But when it was destroyed, the hotel still stood."

"So they simply renamed it?"

"Yes and turned the remaining shops that were left into hotel rooms."

A large brick building loomed ahead, several stories high. In front of it were the ruins of the old shopping centre, their walls still standing for the most part. Though some were reinforced with an all manner of things. The ceilings were a tangled mess of creepers and vines. So thick John doubted even rain could seep through. Though Mycroft replied that it would not rain here. It was against the rules. But many things that Mycroft said had to be taken with a grain of salt and a large glass of whisky.

"It's beautiful." John remarked.

"I suppose." Droned Sherlock, dragging his feet.

They entered the tall building, went up a level and finally found reception. Apparently it had a tendency to move. A weary looking man with a burst of red hair, was shuffling papers. He looked at them with suspicion and then dread. "What do you want?" He snarled, his shuffling and filing interrupted.

"One room, please for a J Watson." Mycorft responded, with an air of authority.

"No, that's not alright at all! Can't have one of you lot, rebels or renegades, coming in here like you own the place. It's bad for business. The Hounds would be on us as soon as they found."

"Because you would alert them of course, rather than help us. But that is beside the point. Mr Watson here, is in fact, a Doctor Watson. And he is not a rebel, a renegade or even a revolutionary. He is simply in need of a room." The man sighed and pulled out a yellowing piece of paper.

"I suppose he can stay then. How many nights?" John was amazed at how quickly the landlord had changed his mind. But then, like most people he'd met so far, he didn't appear to be completely sane.

"As many as are needed."

"Very well. Sign here Mr Doctor Watson." He pushed the paper forward and handed him a quill pen. The form seemed to be most gibberish. But there were X's in all the places he needed to fill out. He signed his name with a flourish and then handed the paper back. The landlord stamped his hand with a large round stamp, leaving the bright blue logo of the hotel.

Ow. John winced. He doubted that had been necessary.

"Here's your key. Mr Plum will take you to your room." Mr Plum, whose named suited him from his clothes to his plumb, reddening face, snorted and picked up the meager amount of luggage John had recently acquired.

"We leave you here, Doctor Watson. We shall see you tomorrow." Mycroft smiled, Sherlock frowned.

"You aren't staying?" No, don't be ridiculous, John. The owner of the hotel just said they couldn't! Oh, it had been a trying day.

"Too dangerous." Sherlock answered from beside the doorway.

"Yeah and because you blue up the kitchen the last time we were here."

"I did not blow it up, Lestrade!"

"I meant blue as in the colour, I hear they're still trying to scrape it off the tiles." Greg grinned to himself and John. Sherlock mumbled something along the lines of 'it was an experiment.'

"So, night, John. We have lodgings not far from here. You're be safe here for the night. Lovely meeting you!"

And with that...they had gone.

* * *

Mr Plum snorted again, which was either his own way of announcing himself or the only sound he was capable of making. He led John down several corridors and hallways until they finally arrived at Room 21. Room 21 contained a luxurious looking bed, a night stand with the oddest lamp he'd ever seen. A black bookcase, a wardrobe and there was a dark screen framed in silver was embedded into the wall. At the foot of the bed he discovered a chest, with the key and lock resting on it's top. A door to the side led to a private lavatory, sink and bath.

The entire room was bigger than his lodgings at back in London, in his world. Mr Plum threw the luggage on the bed and left the room without a snort. John closed the door behind him, then sat on the bed, testing his softness. The flowers that covered the ceiling with slowly unfurling, their petals like pale moonlight. But they didn't look entirely safe. Probably poisonous.

He opened his cases and placed his new clothes in the wardrobe. The removed his night clothes. A thin, blue top of long sleeves and loose fitting, spotted trousers. Beneath them were several pairs, in various colours, of small pants. The undergarments worn in this world. Beside those were his toiletries, most of which had to be explained to John. The ...electric razor, was especially confusing. It looked rather dangerous as well. He left that in its pack and changed. The bed was softer than he was used too and he was sure he would not be able to sleep tonight.

So many thoughts were running through his head. He was in a new world, a strange world. And he'd arrived by falling down a rabbit hole, following a rabbit that wasn't really a rabbit. To find the oddest group of people he'd ever met in his life, because they wanted him to join them on a quest to save their homeland. It sounded like a dream. It  _should_  be a dream. But it was real. It was real and that made the least sense of all.

He turned over in his bed, the birds outside cried hauntingly in the night. John closed his eyes.  _Sleep, Watson. Go to sleep. Maybe you will wake up and be back home._

_But do you want to be?_


End file.
